


No Harm Ever Came From Reading a Book

by Aviss



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - The Mummy Fusion, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:59:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19846078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: The Mummy AU - For years Brienne has been trying to find whether the legend of Lightbringer was true, and whether her dreams are more than that. Now she has the chance to find out, pity the only person who can take her there is the rudest and most aggrieving man in Westeros.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this was going to be just a silly Mummy AU, seriously, don't know where the reincarnation bit came from... but well, Book Canon (in case Hoat and Hyle weren't enough of an indication) because the swords are pretty important here and in the TV show they meant fuck all.

Brienne stared at the beast they had brought before her and was glad to know there were bars separating them. The man, if he could even be called that, was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen, unwashed and unkempt, with long hair which would have been golden blond at some point but was now cacked with grime and filth, a darkish beard with some silver streaks on his face, which was also covered in dirt and mud, and emerald green eyes glittering with malice. Brienne felt a shiver down her spine when those eyes focused on her, a half-second of recognition she immediately dismissed as impossible. 

It couldn't be _him_. 

She looked back at Hyle, scrunching her nose in distaste. "Are you sure?" she whispered, she could smell the man even from that distance. 

Hyle just shrugged. "That's the one."

"Who are you?" He said, voice raspy from disuse. The green eyes moved from Hyle to her, and a furrow appeared between his brows. " _And who's the wench_?"

"Excuse me?" Brienne asked, sharply, only to be ignored.

Hyle approached the cage, cautiously. "We came to ask about your trinket."

The man frowned. "Trinket?"

"The box," Brienne supplied, raising her voice a bit but not approaching the cage. 

The man wasn't paying attention to her though, his eyes were fixed in Hyle. "I think I know you."

"I have one of those faces," Hyle said affecting nonchalance. It was such a bad performance Brienne didn't even know why he bothered. She could tell he was lying, the man in the cage could tell he was lying, Vargo Hoat could tell he was lying from where he was looking down from his window.

"Nah, I think," the man said, tilting his head like a labrador. "Um, I think," he gestured with his hand and Hyle approached him, cautiously. He leaned a bit forward as if about to impart a secret, and Hyle leaned further in like the idiot he was. Brienne knew what was going to happen a second before it did. "Yep, that's it." the man uncoiled like a serpent and struck Hyle on the face, the punch sounding loud and clear. " _You stole it from me_."

Brienne looked disgustedly at Hyle again, not doubting for a moment the man was telling the truth. She had been saddled with that poor excuse of a colleague for months and expected only the worst from him. Unfortunately, she needed him and he knew it.

In the two years she had been working in this dig site in the Riverlands she had not found any mention or anything that even hinted at the resting place of the swords. It wasn't the objective of the dig site, Lady Stark usually reminded her, they were collecting all archaeological evidence they could find of the siege of Riverrun. Brienne kept looking for them, though, for any mention of the fabled twin swords, one of them belonging to the first Lady Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. For the past year, she had dreamed of _her_ trying to give the sword back under a tent, and she just _knew_ it was the Riverlands. There had to be some evidence of it somewhere, or so she hoped because she was going mad.

It wasn't until Hyle had arrived with the little trinket and map the day before that Brienne had really felt the excitement of discovery. This here was the proof that the swords existed beyond legend, that Lightbringer had been real. And if Lightbringer had been real, then her dreams were also real.

Except, when they were trying to read the map, Lady Stark had burned it by accident. Or not so much by accident, in Brienne's opinion, not that she was going to say anything against Lady Stark or had any idea why she would do such a thing. 

Catelyn Stark had been the only person to give Brienne a chance; there weren't many people as well versed in metallurgy, swordsmithing and the story of swordmaking in the Targaryen era as Brienne was. Added to that, Brienne was also an expert in Valyrian steel and could read and speak High Valyrian, even if it was a dead language nowadays. She was also a great fencer, having learned to fight with swords since she was a little girl playing with her brother in Tarth and dreaming of the Lady Knight who was her namesake and had supposedly wielded one of the most famous blades in history. It should have been easy to find a good job with her credentials, but unfortunately, people were too frivolous, and few could look beyond her height, width and homely face. 

Until Catelyn Stark, Brienne was more used to rejection than acceptance. Few dig sites approved of a woman following such pursuits instead of being home popping out babies. The few allowances made for women were usually made for those that looked very different from Brienne, and it was rarely thanks to their academic merit, even when they had them. Not to mention that during her last years of schooling, when she had been doing practices on a dig site just out of Highgarden, she had been the object of a bet among the other students to see who could relieve her of her maidenhead for a bag of gold. One of them had been Hyle Hunt. She had learned the hard way that men were curs, and they would not forgive a woman for being ugly or better than them at their job. Or in Brienne's case, both.

And now she had unfortunately been cursed with Hyle's presence in her life again, and unlike the times he'd tried courting her since those days, for a certain definition of courting that meant he was more interested in her inheritance than in her and had no qualms telling her that, he had finally found something she wanted more than she loathed him. 

"Excuse me," she said, finally addressing the beastly man in the cage, who had been restrained by the guards. "Can you talk to us about the box?"

He startled at her voice and his eyes moved back to her, an unholy gleeful expression taking over his face. Brienne knew what was coming. "By the Gods, you sure are an ugly wench, but you'll do."

She pressed her lips firmly together, ignoring both the insult and Hyle's snickers by her side. 

"Excuse me," she repeated, sharply. "Where did you find the box? Could you tell us how to get there?"

The man looked at her up and down, a long, lingering look that had Brienne's cheeks suffusing with heat. He smirked up at her. "No. You're not here for the box."

"No?" Brienne blinked and shared a look with Hyle, who was still pressing a cloth to his bleeding nose. 

"No, you're here for Last Hearth."

Brienne froze, her entire body stiffening in shock. _Last Hearth_ , the place where Lightbringer had finally put the Night King to rest forever. It was supposed to be a legend, like the Wall in the lands of Eternal Winter. If it had ever existed, it was buried under the snow. There was nothing north of Last River, and even the Dreadfort was occupied only by a handful of people, northerners born and raised in the worst conditions known to mankind, dare live that far up north.

"How do you know it relates to Last Hearth?" She asked, her voice choked. 

"Where do you think I was when I got that accursed box?" he said, still with that damnable smirk on his face.

"It can't be, nobody knows where it is, nobody even believes it exists anymore." 

"The mythical place where the Night King was defeated, somewhere in the lands of Eternal Winters. Trust me, it does exist, though only a crazy person would want to go there to freeze their balls off," he said, and Brienne almost recoiled at how crude he was. She held her own there, though and he gave her a speculative look. "Or one looking for the rumoured treasure."

She pursed her lips, offended. She wasn't a greedy treasure hunter, she had more personal reasons to want to find the swords. "I'm not interested in the treasure. I have reasons to believe it was real, and that there is something very important buried there," she said, letting her excitement get the better of her. This was the first time she had spoken of the place with someone who had not immediately dismissed it. "A sword."

"Lightbringer," the man said, that superior smirk back to his face. "You mean _two swords_. Of priceless Valyrian steel."

"You know the legend," she breathed, excited. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Hyle approaching again to listen, and Vargo Hoat coming down from where he was observing them through a window.

The man looked at them and then turned his green eyes on her again. " _I know it._ "

"Can you tell me how to get there?" she asked, and the man leaned forward, nodding. She took a step towards the cage, remembering how he had hit Hyle before. But he wouldn't hit her, would he? She had not stolen anything from him and she was a woman, huge and ugly as she was, he wouldn't hit a woman, right? The man tilted his chin up, face almost against the bars and Brienne saw Hyle and Hoat too close for comfort. She didn't want them to hear it. She approached another step and leaned towards the cage. 

As quick as before, the man's hand darted out and Brienne tried to recoil, but he didn't punch her. He gripped her chin tight and forced her closer, pushing his own face against the bars of the cage and pressing their lips together. Brienne's eyes widened impossibly, pushing herself back until she almost fell on her arse. The man was grabbed by the guards and bodily dragged away from the bars. "Get me out of here and I'll take you there."

"Why--" she spluttered, still feeling the pressure of his lips against hers. 

"Get.Me.Out!" he screamed before he was taken out of the cage and his screams faded in the distance. 

Brienne rubbed a hand across her mouth to try and remove the feeling of the man's lips on hers. She wished she had not fallen for his trick, it made her feel dirty and exposed, and reminded her too much of the men at the dig in Highgarden, though at least this one had not called her beautiful. She wanted nothing more than to turn back to the digs and ignore this man, but she couldn't.

"Where are they taking him?" She asked Hoat, who was now by her side staring at her. 

"Back to King'th Landing, I hear the headman ith eagerly waiting for him," Hoat said, a dark satisfaction on his face. 

King's Landing? She couldn't go to King's Landing, that was in the opposite direction! She also couldn't afford to have the first person who knew about Last Hearth executed, she would never get another day of decent rest in her life if she did. "I'll pay you two hundred dragons if you release him to my custody." She could probably spare that much without having to write to her father for funds.

"Are you richer than a Lannithter, becauthe they are the oneth who want him," Hoat countered, and damn it, nobody was richer than the damned Lannisters. Nobody had been richer than them for the past thousand years. The Queen herself was a Lannister, and rotten to the core. 

"He can't be executed, he knows the way to Last Hearth," she said, mostly out of desperation. Without the map, the only way to find the place was with him.

Hoat frowned at her, considering. "Latht Hearth ith not real."

"You sure about that? We found proof it is," she said and Hyle glared at her. He probably didn't want to share the treasure with more people, but there would be no treasure to share if their guide was executed.

"I want half of the treathure," Hoat demanded and Brienne shook her head. 

"Ten percent," she offered, knowing it was going to be rejected straight away. 

Hoat glared at her and they haggled for ten minutes like they were buying something in the market instead of negotiating over a man's life. She felt disgusted just by doing this, but it was the only way. They settled on twenty-five percent but only because Brienne refused to budge more. "You thtubborn woman," Hoat said, and she knew she had won that one.

"What did that man do anyway?" she finally asked, because it was important information. He hadn't looked especially dangerous, but appearance could be deceiving. She hoped he wasn't a murderer or a rapist, but she would have to be prepared if they were going to be travelling together. She was more worried about Hoat and the way he looked at her, though. 

Hoat's grim smile grew. "He got tho drunk he forgot the Queen wantth hith head on a pike, and announced hith name to the whole inn." 

"What name?" She asked, confused. 

"Jaime Lannister."

Brienne felt the bottom fall from her stomach. _Oh no_. _Not him_.

…

She was waiting outside of the keep the next morning with two saddled horses, one for her and one for Lannister, and a packhorse with her belongings and a few utensils for the dig. They had decided to use horses, automobiles this far from King's Landing were rarely seen and always remarked upon, and it was better for them to be unremarkable with Lannister in their party. Also, most of the roads had not been paved outside of the capital, and none in the North yet. She had packed a couple of fur cloaks because she had been once to Winterfell years ago and it was already bitterly cold there, she imagined further up north must be even worse. 

Hyle Hunt had insisted on coming with Brienne, much to her dismay, and she had been unable to refuse him. "We can get married and then it would not be improper for you to travel with us," Hyle was saying, and Brienne rolled her eyes at him. This wasn't the Targaryen era anymore, though sometimes she felt they had not advanced so much. At least she could wear trousers when she wanted. 

He had been annoying her with marriage proposals ever since he found her working in the dig. "Not interested, Hyle," she said, for the millionth time. 

"Think of your reputation," he insisted, pretending to care once again. "What will your father say if he hears you're travelling with men, one of them a Lannister."

"Look Hyle, I'm not going to say yes, not now not ever," she finally snapped. "You had a chance and decided to ridicule me for money, I'm not stupid enough to say yes to you."

"You will," he said, his tone dismissive and superior and made her want to punch him. "You will have to give your father an heir, and you're too ugly to get other offers. I will treat you respectfully, which is more than others will."

"What respect was there on betting on my maidenhead?" she snapped, glaring at him. 

Hyle shrugged. "Your other option is Lannister, and maybe you prefer him."

Brienne looked at him disgustedly. "I don't prefer anyone; especially not a filthy, rude, oathbreaker." She wasn't thinking about the kiss. She wasn't, it couldn't even be considered a kiss, just a brush of lips and he'd only done it to shock her. 

"Are you talking about me, wench?" a voice behind her said, and she turned to see Jaime Lannister standing next to the horse she had ready. 

She knew it was him only because of his voice and his green eyes. He wasn't filthy anymore; he had washed and cut his hair some, which was once again golden and falling in lush curls to his shoulders. He had shaved and looked to be just barely over his thirty name day, his features made sharper by his time imprisoned but no less beautiful, his jaw looked chiselled and his cheekbones sculpted by a master. He was wearing his house colours again, red jerkin and dark breeches, and a sword strapped to his waist. It was unfair a man like that existed. 

She cursed under her breath, this was possibly the most beautiful man she had ever seen, and she had always had problems with men like that. To make matters worse, Hyle was looking at them with a frown, as if he had any right to feel jealous. 

"Yes, I see you have no preference," he said, before turning his horse around and starting to march. 

She noticed the last man then, Hoat. "You're coming as well?" she said, wondering which of the Seven she had angered to deserve this. 

"Of courthe," he said, looking at her in a way she misliked. "I have to protect my invethment, and I don't trutht oathbreakerth."

Lannister shot him a look that promised Hoat would meet with an accident as soon as he could arrange one, but just pursed his lips and turned to Brienne. She fixed him with her most serious look. "Do you swear this is not a trick, Lannister?" she asked because she knew of his reputation and what people said about him. That wasn't all she knew, though, and was very curious to know if history was really repeating itself. "I warn you--"

He cut her off with a mirthless laugh. " _You warn me_? Wench, nothing you can do is worse than what awaits for me in King's Landing courtesy of my sweet sister. She was the one who sent me with a whole garrison of Lannister men, men that trusted me and who I trusted, so we could chase after a legend to keep her clinging to her throne for a bit longer," he said, and his voice was bitter and angry, his eyes remote. "We went up north looking for a legend but found nothing but icy death and, when I failed her, dishonour and the price over my head for refusing her the location so she could throw away more lives for her power." Brienne startled at that, somehow believing his words. He sighed exasperatedly and mounted his horse to follow after the other men. He turned around when Brienne had not moved. "Come on wench, we have a long way to Winterfell and the days are getting shorter. Like Stark would say, _Winter is coming_." 

This was going to be a long expedition, and she would be lucky if they all survived each other and what was waiting for them there. 

She just hoped the dreams gave her a reprieve now.

...


	2. Chapter 2

Jaime kept darting looks at the wench as they rode side by side. 

He was very intrigued by her, had been since the moment the guards had dragged him to that cage and he'd looked up to see the really enormous woman standing, all prim and proper, next to a man whose most remarkable feature was that he was completely unremarkable. Nobody would say that of her, not when she was taller and wider than Jaime himself, flat-chested with no visible waist, and had the most astonishing blue eyes on a face with the most unfortunate features. 

There was something terrifyingly familiar about her, but Jaime hadn't been ready to think about that just yet. Not while his next stop had been the headsman.

He had known since the moment he woke up with a band playing havoc in his head, his mouth tasting like a dragon had died in it, and manacles around his wrist that he was a dead man. His past had finally caught up with him. He shouldn't have got so drunk, he knew that but there wasn't much for him to do anymore, not since his sister had called him a coward and an oathbreaker in front of the entire court, and put a price on his head. It seriously limited his choices in life.

And he had wanted to sleep without those damned dreams for one night. 

Then the guards had dragged him out, he'd looked at the woman and thought, _this one,_ for some strange reason. He'd ignored that voice in his head and looked at the man; there was something familiar about him, but his features were so generic he could have literally been anyone. Then he had started asking about the box, the little trinket he had taken from that frozen deathtrap, and Jaime had known. That worm was the reason he was in chains once again, the one that had stolen the only thing worth something Jaime still possessed, and why he had drunk so recklessly.

And the wench was with him? Another treasure hunter hoping to become rich chasing a legend? Those were the only kinds of people who wanted to know about Last Hearth, the tale of the priceless artefacts and the gold buried in its icy chambers enough to entice them to their death. The way the wench looked at the man, disgust and resignation plain on her face, meant she wasn't like one of them. 

In which case, she must be looking for the swords. He wondered if she was his wench, the one always on the corner of his eye in his dreams, and didn't need to feel his heart tripping all over itself to know the answer to that. 

"Brienne," she said after a while riding side by side in silence, and Jaime startled, wondering if she could read minds. 

"What?"

"My name is Brienne, not Wench. Brienne of Tarth." 

Of fucking course she was, Jaime had expected no less.

"Are you also a Ser, Brienne of Tarth?" he taunted, too unsettled to do anything else. She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth but he wasn't finished. "My name is Jaime, _not Oathbreaker,_ " he looked at her pointedly to indicate he had heard her before and she blushed. "Tell me, _wench_ , what do you want with the swords?"

She pursed her lips at the address, the way he knew she would do. "That's none of your business, _Lannister_." She spurred her horse and rode ahead of him in a huff, not quite joining with the rest of their party. Riding alone was definitely the better option than with those two. Jaime smiled at her back, she was so easy to rile up. This was going to be a long and awful trip, but getting a rise out of her was fun, and he hadn't had fun in so long that he was looking forward to all the ways he could annoy her and all the reactions he could elicit from her.

In fact, Jaime's life had become the opposite of fun the moment those damned dreams had started. Before, he had been happy, for a given definition of happiness that meant he was at his sister's beck and call. But he had loved her and had believed she loved him and they were meant to be together, always. She was Queen thanks to him, the commander of the Lannister armies who had kept her on the throne once her husband had died, in suspicious circumstances and without an heir. If they could only be together in secret and occasionally, Jaime knew better than to complain and offer running away together again. 

Then he had dreamt about that damned sword for the first time, and everything had gone downhill from there. He didn't know why it had made him distance himself from his sister, why her touch had suddenly repelled him and why he had started to not listen to her words and instead pay attention to her actions. It had been heartbreaking to realize that when he had believed himself loved, he had just been used. And he wasn't his sister's only tool. 

He had cursed the dreams and himself; once his eyes had been opened, he had been unable to go back to her and she'd had no qualms declaring him a traitor.

Jaime's first dream had been of a red war pavilion, and someone there with him who made his heart beat faster. They had thrust a sword with a very distinctive Lannnister pommel in his direction, a very famous sword. In his dream, he had looked fondly at the person behind the sword and lifted his golden hand to push it back to them, refusing to take it. He woke up with deep loss and longing lodged in his throat, and an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He knew his legends, knew who was the Knight with a hand made of gold and a Valyrian steel sword matching that other one, and if they happened to share a name it was just coincidence. Lannisters had never been especially imaginative when naming their children, and his parents had obviously had a sense of humour and decided to name theirs after the most infamous pair of Lannister twins in history. 

He clenched his right hand; the dreams were just that, dreams, they weren't real. This was all the reminder he needed, the feeling of his sword hand still attached to his arm; he wasn't Goldenhand, _he couldn't be._

But now the wench had come barreling into his life, and Jaime Lannister was marching North with Brienne of Tarth.

 _Again_.

…

There was no more conversation while they rode which served Jaime just fine. 

He needed to order his thoughts and decide if he was really taking them to Last Hearth or if he was going to ditch them halfway and make his way back south as a free man. He still didn't know what he'd do with his life in the south, apart from getting drunk and picking fights, but that was always an option. He stared at the wench's back and knew he was only fooling himself, of course he was taking them to Last Hearth; if it had been just Hoat and that Hyle thief, Jaime would have already disposed of them. They had, foolishly, removed his manacles and allowed him a sword. He had been captured before because he was drunk and outnumbered, not unskilled, just the two of them had no chance against him when he was sober. 

And he owed one to Hoat. He had relished too much kicking a man when he was down.

She had saved his life, though, he would be beholden to her for the time being. And he was very curious about her. 

They made good time to Seagard, where they took cabins on a ship to Deepwood Motte and from there they would ride to Winterfell. 

"Shouldn't we go straight to Last Hearth, or are you just going to dump us somewhere?" Hyle asked when Jaime mentioned they should get as much rest as possible for the next three days of sailing since they would be riding fast the moment they disembarked.

"I wouldn't be thurprithed," Hoat added and Jaime clenched his fist not to deck him there and then. "You can't trutht oathbreakers."

He didn't need to say anything, though, Brienne was already looking at the two men disgustedly. "We have to restock our provisions and prepare to cross through the lands of Eternal Winter," she said, enunciating slowly and clearly as if she was talking to a child or an idiot. "We can get food in Deepwood Motte, but we're going to need to change horses and get tents for sleeping. And have you packed a proper winter cloak and boots?"

Hyle looked disgruntled but wisely shut his mouth, Hoat didn't even have the grace to look abashed. Jaime had seen his pack, the idiot didn't have a cloak. 

She was smarter than most people thinking to make their way up North but still would die if she tried on her own. "A proper cloak will help in Winterfell, maybe in the Dreadfort but I don't think so," Jaime said, and all eyes turned to him. "Past Last River, we'll need more than that. There is nothing but snow up there, so forget about hunting or foraging for food, anything we don't take with us, we'll have to go without. That includes grain for the horses. We also need the furs and leathers of the wildings to survive, or most of you will lose a limb to frostbite within the sennight. No normal sleeping tents either. There's someone in Winter Town who can sell us what we need if we have enough coin," he wouldn't have survived the first trip without Gilly's furs. "I also need to retrieve something from Winterfell." 

Someone, to be precise, the main reason he had survived the return trip from Last Hearth. She wasn't going to be happy to see him again, but Jaime was sure he'd be able to convince the wolfling to help them once he introduced her to his companion. She needed to know of the dreams that had plagued him since that first expedition, that had made him turn his life around in such a way. He could remember the little slip of a girl that had dragged him out of the neverending snow after days of riding, visited him while he recuperated in Winterfell after almost dying on the way down from Last Hearth, the weight of her cold stare and the dagger she had pressed against his throat. " _The North's no place for Lions,_ " she had said and Jaime had known he was about to die, but something had stayed her hand. Something she had seen in his eyes because she had stared at them for a moment too long before removing her knife. "Go back south, Jaime Lannister. Don't come back without her." He had wondered how she knew his name and if she wanted him to come back with his sister and why, and what reason she could have to save his life.

He had started dreaming the next day.

"How long the ride north from Winterfell?" Brienne asked, startling him out of his thoughts. She was clearly calculating how many provisions they needed, a smart measure. 

"Depends on weather conditions and how many snow storms we have to face." He had lost at least three men the previous time on the way up, two of them had just vanished in the middle of a storm when there was no visibility, the tracks left by their horses wiped in under a minute. They had learned to stop the march at the first sign of a storm coming though it had slowed them down considerably. The last man they lost to the cold, he had wandered out of his tent during one night, too much ale to keep him warm had made him need to relieve himself, and he'd got lost on the way back to camp. They had found his frozen body the following morning. "We should carry provisions for at least a whole moon, more if we can."

"We're going to need another packhorse then," she said, at the same time that Hyle and Hoat stood up and left them, obviously bored with the practicalities of survival in the north.

"Things would be much faster if we could get rid of the dead weight and drop Hoat and your boyfriend down the side of the ship," Jaime said, finally taking a seat in front of her. 

She looked up at him, her lips pressed in that faintly disapproving way of hers that Jaime could already tell he was going to enjoy provoking. "Not my boyfriend," she grumbled, then dropped her eyes, a faint blush on her cheeks, and looked reluctantly amused. "and we can't, _unfortunately_."

"Nobody would know," he said in a teasing tone and finally she let her lips curl into a half-smile. 

They stayed like that for a while, sitting in silence in the cold deck of the boat. Jaime was in no hurry to go back in, even when the air out here was cold enough to mist his breath, and then one of the serving girls from the ship brought her some things and Brienne took out the sword from her hip and started cleaning it. Jaime had noticed her wearing it before but had not really considered it to be the real thing. He shook his head at his own foolishness. "You know how to use that, wench?" he asked and she looked at him and looked pointedly at the one on his own hip. 

"Get that one out and I'll show you, Lannister," she countered, and Jaime smiled. He looked around to find a clear space on the deck and unsheathed his sword. 

"With pleasure, my lady," he took his stance while she stood up, her sword gripped tightly in her hand and a mulish expression on her face. "Shall we dance?"

They touched swords, and Jaime could immediately see she was good but unpracticed. She had probably learned to fence as a sport, a pastime. She had the footwork and the moves, and the strength to back it up, but she wasn't a soldier or a killer. She had no chance against him. 

And yet, she was very good, the way she parried his hits, not giving an inch of ground, almost anticipating his movements. It made his blood sing, the act of clashing swords with someone skilled, they danced around each other, their swords moving high and low, almost on a dance of their own, and Jaime could see on her face the pleasant surprise at his skill. She was relaxing with steel in her hand, her eyes shining and her lips curled in a smile, and Jaime couldn't help but return it. It had been a long time since he'd felt like this. 

"You're good, for a wench," he taunted, but there was no bite in his tone. She didn't reply, just narrowed her eyes at him and charged harder. He had been right, she was very easy to rile up. "But you can't win."

He had her in the next few moves, as someone who had learned to fence and not real combat, she was constrained by rules. And those rules could be exploited. He had her sword clattering to the deck and grabbed her shirt, pulling her against him and his sword, which he placed against her neck. She glared at him, pink-cheeked and panting with exertion. Jamie's eyes dropped to her lips; they were too big to be considered attractive and he could see big crooked teeth behind where they were enticingly opened. He was suddenly struck with the urge to kiss her again.

"Why did you do it?" she asked and he looked up until he was looking into her eyes. It wasn't an improvement, he felt, if anything, like getting lost in them even more. 

"Why did I do what?" he asked, stupidly. There were so many things he had done in his life that required that question, not that she knew of them.

"Kiss me."

Oh, that one was easy, and also something he wasn't going to share with her. Not that the moment he had seen her, he had wanted nothing more than that, all because his stupid heart was set in telling him she was the shadow in his dreams. He shrugged, smirking infuriatingly, and she frowned at him. "I was about to be sent for execution to King's Landing, it felt like the thing to do."

She pushed him sharply away from her and Jaime tripped and fell to the deck while she huffed and turned around, leaving him there. 

He was still smiling stupidly when he got inside his cabin, and there it suddenly fell from his face. The serving girl that had brought the things to Brienne was waiting for him in his cabin, a wicked-looking and familiar dagger in her hand.

"I told you last time that the North was no place for Lions," she said, and the voice was one he recognized even if he had never seen this girl before, and the words had been playing in his head since the last expedition. "You shouldn't have come back, Jaime Lannister. Winter is here."

" _Arya_?"

…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn but writing this chapter has been like pulling teeth, but now that's out of the way we can get some adventure. It's going to separate more from the movie plot itself to include the myriad of GoT characters, but I hope I can still adhere to the spirit of adventure of the Mummy

Brienne was fuming when she went back into her cabin 

She couldn't believe the nerve of the man; that uncouth, rude, disgusting, irritating man. She threw her sword on top of her bunk and dropped on the chair, letting her face fall on her hands. She could feel the heat on her cheeks and the sting in her eyes, she shut them tightly until there were tiny starbursts exploding behind her lids and she could slow down her breaths. She didn't know what she had been expecting; of course he hadn't been overcome with the desire to kiss her, _not her_. Nobody had ever been overcome with desire for her, and the first one wasn't going to be a man who looked like the Warrior reborn. 

She remembered the bet from Highgarden's dig and her tears dried before they were allowed to fall, burned in the anger and embarrassment that got hold of her. Of course she was the butt of the joke, when had she been anything else? He had been calling her _wench_ since the moment they met, calling her ugly and mocking her non-stop. At least he had done it to her face, instead of pretending to like her, but that was the only kindness he had shown her since they met.

_He listened to you and didn't interrupt you, even waited until you were done to correct you_ , her traitorous mind supplied. _And he fought against you in earnest and even praised your skills._

That only made it worse because during the time they had been clashing swords Brienne had felt almost at peace, like this was where she was supposed to be, facing Jaime Lannister with a sword in her hand. Even if it hadn't been the right sword. It had been easy sparring with him, nothing of the awkwardness of the first contact with a new sparring partner. She was used to those, to men underestimating her or belittling her for pursuing such a masculine interest, then insulting her when she bested them. Lannister had done nothing like that, and something told Brienne he would not have insulted her if she won their sparring match. Not that he hadn't insulted her for no other reason than who she was. _Wench_. That word provoked a surge of heat in her that was equal parts of fury and something she refused to name.

With an irritated growl, Brienne stood up from the chair and went to pick up her sword, at least she could finish cleaning it. She looked around and sighed, she had left the cleaning materials outside and promptly forgotten about them when she stormed into her room in a huff. She tied the sword to her waist again and went out to look for them. 

She walked past Lannister's cabin and glared at the closed door, and almost as if she had summoned him, the door opened and a serving girl came out. She stopped when she saw Brienne and looked at her, eyes narrowed. It was the same girl that had brought her the cleaning materials before, but now she was staring at Brienne appraisingly. Brienne frowned at her, uncomfortable under her scrutiny, and opened her mouth to ask her if she needed something when the girl turned on her heel and went back inside the room.

Brienne stayed rooted to the spot; the girl had not fully closed the door, something she thought had not been an accident. "So you're sure it's her," the girl asked, clearing intending for Brienne to hear it. What was going on here? How did Lannister know this girl and why were they talking about Brienne?

Then his voice, close as if he was just on the other side of the door. 

"Sure? I'm not even sure I am who you say I am, _wolfling_ ," Lannister sounded irritated and disbelieving, and the next words out of his mouth sent a shock through Brienne. "Goldenhand and the Lady Knight, those are legends, same as the damned swords."

"I have seen the swords, they're not only legends." The girl said, her voice too old and knowing for the young girl Brienne had seen. "And you know that; you knew it when you decided to leave them in their resting place instead of bringing them to your sister." Brienne had to hold herself back from barging into the room. Who was she? What did she mean Lannister had _decided to leave the swords_?

"She would have misused them," Lannister said, and she could already tell he was gritting his teeth, the words pulled out of him almost against his will. "I knew even as I set north with my men."

"You always knew her for what she was, even _before_."

"And I loved her anyway. I know."

Brienne was frozen in place, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. _Before_ , that word had such weight out of the girl's mouth. There were too many coincidences. She took a step towards the cabin, she needed to talk to them, she had to--

"Ladieth don't eavethdrop." Brienne bit back a scream at the voice next to her ear, she had been so focused eavesdropping and had not noticed the approach of Vargo Hoat, who was obviously the worse for drink and too close for comfort. "You're ugly, you're a maid for thure. _I like maidth_." He leered at her and Brienne took a step back from him, flinching in disgust at his look and his tone. He closed the distance again and Brienne pushed him against the wall.

" _Don't_ ," she hissed and walked away fast without breaking into a run, Hoat's laugh grating in her ears, and heard the door fully opening before she was outside.

"Hoat, haven't you learned not to eavesdrop?" Lannister's voice reached her, and the disgust in his tone matched what she was feeling.

She grabbed the things, which were still in the same place, and got back inside. The door to his cabin was properly closed this time, and Hoat had vanished to wherever he had been going. She knocked on the door and Lannister opened it, a thunderous scowl on his face which cleared when he saw Brienne. "You're not Hoat," he said, stating the obvious. "I don't think you hear this many times, but it's good to see you wench."

She felt the same irritation as usual around him and had to bite back a retort. She was there for a different reason. "Where's the girl?"

"What girl?" he asked, puzzled. Brienne narrowed her eyes at him. He was definitely a better actor than Hyle, but he was acting. She had seen the girl there not five minutes ago.

"I saw the serving girl coming to your room," Brienne said, and he arched an eyebrow at her, pasting a smirk on his face she wanted to wipe out.

"Jealous, wench?" he asked, Brienne bristled. "Don't be, she just bought me some things and left." There were no benefits to starting an argument with him, not over this, and admit to having been eavesdropping. Brienne just turned on her heel and left. "Is that was you wanted, wench? To make sure I was alone? You can come in and keep me company," his voice followed her, taunting and amused until she was back in her cabin with the door closed. 

She took a deep breath to calm her anger and sat at her table, taking her sword out and started to clean it. She let her mind go over what she'd overheard while the mechanical motions of cleaning her blade helped calm her mind, trying to make sense of everything she'd heard.

The serving girl was clearly not a serving girl and she knew Jaime from before this trip. The logical explanation was that she and Jaime were in this together, but Brienne couldn't see how. She had not known Jaime a few days ago, and he was in jail. And they had not known which port or ship they were going to until they had been there. The only explanation Brienne could find was the crazy one. 

All of them were connected somehow by their dreams. Dreams that were not quite that, more like glimpses into the past. She had not really believed it, not even when her heart had slammed painfully against her chest at his name back in the Riverlands, but what if it was true?

Ever since she was a girl Brienne had always identified easily with her, Brienne of Tarth, the first Knight of the Seven Kingdoms. How could she not? Not only she had been named after her, but it was also known that she had been called the Ugliest Maid in Westeros at some point. Brienne, too tall and broad, with a homely freckled face and horse teeth, limp straw-coloured hair and no womanly shape, had been fascinated by her. Ugly Brienne of Tarth had achieved something in the second Targaryen era no woman had before, and paved the way for many other female Knights. It had been the era of Queens and Lady Knights, of Ladies in the Council and in the Keeps. It had been the beginning of empowerment for women, though they still had a long way to go.

Those were the known facts, and more than enough to admire her. Then there were the songs and legends, the ones that said she had been the companion and lover of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, later known as Goldenhand. No proof had been found to sustain this but some popular songs of their time and a few written documents in Kings Landing and the Vale that put them together leaving the Riverlands, and then with Sansa Stark in Winterfell and the Long Night. The song of Lightbringer was the most famous one, the one about their fight against the Others and their twin swords slaying the Night King. There was also a variation of the Bear and the Maiden Fair, called the Maid in the Bearpit, that was said Goldenhand himself commissioned to a bard in the Vale. It had been Brienne's favourite old song growing up.

She had liked to imagine and believe those were historical fact, not just legends, because what ugly girl didn't want to imagine herself loved by the handsome knight? But had never believed them, not really. Not until now.

She needed answers before they continued their trip, and Brienne already knew she wouldn't be getting them out of Jaime Lannister. 

She needed to find the girl. 

Satisfied she had decided on a plan of action, Brienne put away her sword and cleaning things and went to look for her.

…

By the time they disembarked in Deepwood Motte, Brienne was about ready to scream in frustration. She was also considering the merits of throwing Hyle Hunt and Vargo Hoat down the side of the ship like Lannister had suggested on the first day, and throw Jaime Lannister after them for good measure. 

She was done with the three of them.

Vargo Hoat had spent most of the trip drunk, and every time Brienne had seen him he always had that lecherous expression on his face that made her want to scrub her skin until it turned red. Hyle, on the other hand, had decided to be helpful, and by being helpful it meant he tried to pick fights with Lannister over every little thing, trying to show off how much better he was. He seemed to believe it was because of Jaimie Lannister that Brienne kept refusing him, completely ignoring it was all because of himself and the way he had hurt Brienne in the past.

Those two were bad, but Jaime Lannister was much worse. 

He didn't do anything, not really. He was just there, staring at Brienne with an expression that was wondering at times and amused some other, his beautiful green eyes never leaving her if she was in the same room. He spoke to her respectfully enough but still called her wench, and he had asked her to spar every day, their matches the only time Brienne felt relaxed. 

And at night, Brienne would dream of him. 

Oh, she never got to see his face, not clearly, but she knew his voice well enough by now to identify him immediately. It was a new dream this time, one she had not had before. She was dressed in a blue dress, feeling uncomfortable in women's garb under his intense scrutiny, he was dressed all in white like the Kingsguard of old, looking Knightly and impossibly handsome. She knew, even when she couldn't see his face, she knew in her bones. They were arguing, because that was what they did best, though he had complimented her eyes and the dress she was wearing had been a kindness from him. 

_"It was not my lady's daughter. It could not have been her," Brienne had said._

_"There's the stubborn stupid wench that I remember."_

_Brienne had flushed. "My name is--"_

_"Brienne of Tarth." A sigh. "I have a gift for you." He had taken a bundle wrapped in velvet, and Brienne had carefully opened it to reveal the most beautiful sword she had ever seen._

She always woke up the moment she touched the sword and knew it was Oathkeeper, the longer of the pair of them. She also knew there was no record of how Brienne of Tarth had come to be in possession of the sword, it was rumoured it had been given to her by Jaime Lannister in payment for some service or as a romantic gesture, but this fit more with was they knew of the two of them. Brienne wanted to go to Lannister and ask him about it, ask whether he also had those dreams and if he thought they could be real, but she couldn't. 

He'd think she was crazy, she thought the same sometimes. 

There was also the serving girl. 

Brienne had been looking everywhere for her for three days, but found hair nor hide of the girl, and if she had not been solid enough when she had brought Brienne her things the first time she had seen her, Brienne would believe she was a ghost who had just appeared for a little while and then vanished from a ship in the middle of the ocean. What other explanation could there be? There were limited hiding spaces in a ship, and even asking some of the crew had only earned her confused and suspicious looks; there were no girls in this ship, the captain was a superstitious man and didn't like women in his ship unless they were passengers and had plenty of coin, he would not have allowed one in the crew.

Brienne knew what she'd seen and heard, though, and could feel Lannister's eyes on her the entire time, daring her to ask him again. She wasn't going to, already knew only more taunts about jealousy would come from that, she didn't mind biding her time until she found her again. She had the feeling it wasn't going to take too long.

She had been right.

They were barely an hour out of the town after spending too much time and money making sure both Hoat and Hyle survived the weather. Brienne had forgotten how beautiful the north was, and how bitterly, painfully cold. Outside of the town, there was nothing but snow, deep white snow that made the horse's advance difficult and blanketed everything within sight, hurting their eyes unless they covered them with dark lenses. They had to swap the animals they had for new ones bred in the north and used to these conditions, lest they perished halfway to Winterfell. She had also bought some furs and leathers for her and Lannister to supplement their cloaks, they were further north than Winterfell and it was felt.

Hyle and Hoat were bickering and complaining vocally about the cold until Brienne had had enough. She was cold as well, her face red and painful to the touch, her fingers cramped around the reins of her horse. "You're welcome to return to Riverrun if you so hate the cold," she snapped at them, their constant moaning grating. "We're not on the way to Dorne, it's only going to get colder the further we go."

They had shut up after that, gracelessly, a mutinous expression on their faces that reminded her of a five-year-old denied a treat.

The only one who hadn't complained or said anything was Lannister. Brienne would have relished the quiet, except the expression on his face wasn't one of contemplation, or even of boredom. Lannister was staring straight ahead with a vacant and dead look in his eyes like he wasn't really there but in his own head, and the furrow in his brow told her his memories weren't nice. He had said he'd lost his entire garrison, men he trusted and who trusted him, presumably friends among them, during the previous expedition. The moment they had disembarked and been surrounded by snow, he had clammed up and withdrew into himself. 

Brienne didn't like it. She kept darting looks at him, concerned by his silence and the pained look on his face.

"Lannister," she said, riding up to him. He turned and blinked at her, his eyes clearing when he saw her. "Are you alright?"

"Jaime, wench," he said, his mouth curling on that damned smirk that infuriated her so much. It was an act, though, she could already tell. "My name is Jaime."

"And my name is Brienne, not wench," she retorted, already regretting coming to speak to him.

"Brienne of Tarth, I know," he said, and his smirk looked more real, more present, like talking to her was drawing him out of his head. " _Anyone told you you're as tedious as you are ugly?_ " 

She felt the words like a punch to the gut; not the insult, she was used to those by many men and he was not special in that. But the absolute familiarity of the words, the way he was staring wide-eyed at her meant he also recognized the words and hadn't expected it. "Yes," she said, slowly, testing the words on her mouth. " _You_ , _a thousand years ago_."

They just stared at each other, the weight of what she had just alluded to suddenly suffocating. He opened his mouth but whatever he was going to say was lost, a rider coming up to them as fast as possible in the snow. Brienne did a double-take; it was a girl, slight and wiry, with dark hair and a horsey face wearing grey furs with the confidence of northerners and a wolf pin, the symbol of the Starks of Winterfell. She slowed down to match their pace the moment she was next to Lannister, who was now frowning at her. 

" _Wolfling_?" he asked, and Brienne startled. That was what he had called the serving girl, but this didn't look like her aside from her size and gender. "What are you doing here? I thought you were in Winterfell already."

"Who are you?" Brienne asked and was ignored by both of them.

"We have problems," the girl said, and her voice matched the one from the ship. Brienne frowned, studying her closely. She was young, younger than Brienne though there was an air of danger and worldliness around her that made it difficult to pinpoint her age. "There is a Lannister garrison in Winter Town being equipped for a trip north, and they have a guide who says he's been there."

"I was the only surviv--" he began, then his face drained of colour, his eyes turning cold and flinty, jaw clenched tight. " _Bronn_ , that cunt."

"So he has really been there," the girl said, almost to herself. "I'll get the Raven to slow them down." She looked past Lannister at Brienne. "Brienne of Tarth, I'm sorry we don't have time to ease you into this, but there have been stirrings from beyond the Wall, Jaime will tell you as much as he can before you reach Winterfell." She turned to him again. "The swords can't be taken from Last Hearth except by their rightful wielders or all will be lost. Can you convince Bronn not to take them?"

"No, he only cares about the gold he'll receive at the end of his mission," Lannister said, voice hard and bitter. "And my sister cares for nothing but clinging to her throne, she's convinced the swords will keep her enemies at bay."

"Then hurry and get there before the Lannister party." And she was gone, galloping away as fast as she had arrived. 

Brienne stared at the tracks left on the snow, the only proof that she had really been there and not a dream, and how they were quickly covered by new snow. She looked at Lannister, who was turned towards her with a grim expression on his handsome face. "Who was that?" Brienne finally asked, and the note of complete bafflement in her voice must have been funny to him because his lips ticked up on a brief smile.

"That was Arya Stark, and I'd say you get used to her, but I'd be lying."

"Arya _Stark_?" she repeated, shocked, her mind connecting facts and names. "Lady Catelyn's daughter?"

It really hadn't been an accident to burn the map, which meant Lady Catelyn had tried to keep her away from the north and the swords. 

What the hell was going on here? She looked at Jaime Lannister from answers, and he began to talk.

...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, no idea how to tag this. Do I tag for Mayor Character Death when it's the previous lives of the current characters? Seems not quite right. So, just to warn, here we see exactly what happened to the previous lives.

They made good time to Winterfell. 

Jaime had been loath to push the horses so hard, especially when it was impossible to see the terrain under the snow and they couldn't risk laming them on the way. The beasts, however, were properly bred for the snowy conditions of the north and appeared to be faring way better than their riders. 

Hyle had complained about the pace, about the few hours rest they got, about the cold and about the way Brienne was ignoring him in favour of keeping pace with Jaime, her eyes usually fixed on him, more than likely thinking about the wolfling's sudden appearance and her revelations. Hyle just liked to complain, it was obvious, and so did Hoat. Jaime was beyond tempted to leave them behind to freeze to death but knew Brienne wouldn't approve, so he had just informed them there was another group ahead of them and they could either hurry or get there too late. 

That had shut them up until they reached Winterfell, in half the time they were supposed to, though the Lannister men had already departed. 

_Fucking Bronn._

Jaime shouldn't have been surprised that the mercenary was willing to go back into that frozen hell for money, nor had he been surprised when the man had abandoned him and his men when they arrived in Last Hearth and the first soldiers had disappeared in strange circumstances. Bronn was a mercenary, and they cared only for coin and their own skins. No, what had shocked him was that, like the cockroach he really was, Bronn had survived that frosted wasteland, and now he was back there doing his sister's bidding. 

Jaime had fumed all the way to Winterfell, wishing he had punched Bronn when he'd had the chance, the wench's eyes turning to him every now and then after their conversation. She had been too silent, not that she was the chatty type, her eyes assessing. She had probably been considering whether to believe what he'd told her or not. 

Jaime couldn't blame her; he'd had the same reaction back on the ship when Arya had woven her tale of legends and swords and the past, of mythical beasts and undead men and destiny. He still wasn't sure he believed everything the wolfling had told him, though it was harder to refute when faced with a mythological being.

"Once you're in Winterfell and you can speak to the Three-eyed Raven, you'll change your tune," Arya had said with the conviction of one who'd seen that happening before.

"And believe I am Goldenhand reborn?" He had said with as much sarcasm as he could infuse into his words. "That's a pretty convincing bird you must have."

"Not a bird," she had grumbled but hadn't insisted. 

Jaime had been fully aware then of who, or more to the point, what, the Three-eyed Raven was. A Greenseer so powerful he was nigh on immortal. He had known, but he hadn't believed. Not really. The same as he had known on some level that his dreams were more and that the wench was more, but he had not fully believed it. 

Not until now. 

Arya was waiting for them outside of the castle when they got there, an expression of impatience on her face.

"No, we couldn't get here faster," Jaime said before she had the chance to say anything. "It's nothing short of a miracle we've arrived in one piece, and we need to rest. _Now_."

They were all exhausted, even Brienne had been flagging for the past few hours. It was difficult to believe they were still standing upright, the shadows under her eyes dark were enough to pass as bruises, the downturn of her mouth revealing her tiredness though she never complained. Jaime knew exactly how she felt, he would also kill for a hot bath and a full night's sleep, on a mattress and not the frozen ground if at all possible.

Arya glared at them and then called one of the servants. "Take them," she pointed at Hyle and Hoat, "to one of the rooms in the east wing, and have two rooms in the guest area prepared for later. Get someone to go down to Winter Town and tell Gilly we'll need everything I requested for tomorrow, we'll be collecting at dawn. Last, go to the stables and swap their horses for fresh ones." She turned to Jaime and Brienne as the servant hurried to carry his orders, dragging Hyle and Hoat away. "You can rest after you've spoken to the Raven," she said, unmoving. Then her features softened minutely, "I know you're tired, I'm sorry, but we don't have much time."

Jaime wanted to protest, they would achieve nothing if they keeled over, but Brienne was already nodding. "We understand."

It was, Jaime realized, the first time she had spoken in the entire day, and they must have both been more exhausted than he thought because he couldn't remember saying much either until he'd spoken to Arya. Unsettled, he followed the little wolfling through the yard and past some arches, keeping always outside the castle itself until they reached the Godswood. 

There was a Weirdwood tree there, one Jaime had seen in his dreams before, the white trunk with the strange face weeping bloody sap, and the dark red leaves topping it even in the middle of winter. He'd always found Weirdwood trees creepy, and this one was the worst. It was made even more unnerving by the wooden wheelchair set next to the trunk and the man sitting on it. 

"Is that--" Brienne began but never finished the question. It was pretty obvious this was the Three-Eyed raven.

The man on the chair, if a man could be called, shouldn't have been alive. He definitely didn't look very lively. He must have been a tall man at one point, but now all that remained was a hunched figure of indeterminate age but well past his first century, with parchment-thin skin stretched over bones and no spare flesh at all, his head was topped with tufts of white hair, brittle looking and limp, the face was hollowed and gaunt, and if Jaime couldn't see him breathe, he would believe it was a mummified corpse. Then his eyes opened, a white film covering them for a moment. He blinked, and the eyes staring at them were normal eyes, if old beyond comprehension. He nodded at Arya, who turned on her heel and left them there without another word.

"Jaime Lannister, it's been a very long time and you haven't changed," the raven said, his voice soft and raspy, and Jaime had a moment of disconnection. 

He saw himself, but not in any way he had ever seen himself on a mirror, young and dressed in white with his clothes in disarray while Cersei was also half-dressed behind him. And the boy in the window of the tower, hanging onto his arm for dear life. He somehow knew the boy was the Three-eyed Raven, and knew with bone-deep certainty what he was about to do. Had he ever been this golden or this cruel? " _The things I do for love_ ," he said, and pushed the boy to his death. 

Jaime blinked and he was back in the courtyard in Winterfell, and the boy he hadn't managed to kill in the past had outlived all of them and everyone else in the world. He felt his stomach churning, a strange vertigo that made him grab onto the closest thing, Brienne's arm, lest he crumpled to the ground. She took a look at him, and whatever she saw on his face made her take a step closer, offering her support silently. It was clear she was also feeling unnerved here, whether she was seeing things or not. 

"I'm afraid we don't have time to ease you into this, you know who you are, even if you can't believe it. You've had the dreams and you have drifted together the way it will always be when you're needed," he said, his eyes remote and sad. Jaime wanted to laugh at him, to tell him he was talking nonsense, but he couldn't. Not here, not in this Weirdwood where everything, even magic, felt possible. "I've lived too many years knowing _He_ was going to come back, but the Gods have not seen fit to send you to me until it's almost too late. Again."

Brienne was the one to speak, her voice loud and strong in the quiet Godswood. "Even if what you say it's true," she began, and her tone was thick with disbelief. The Raven didn't seem to mind, looking at them placidly. "What are we supposed to do that wasn't done last time? Wasn't he killed by the twin swords? By Lightbringer?"

"Songs and legends have a basis in truth, but they are not the whole story," he lifted his hands from the armrests on the chair and offered them. Jaime and Brienne exchanged a look and took them gently, fearful that a too strong grip would shatter the delicate bones and rip the parchment skin. "Place your other hand on the trunk."

They did, and Jaime felt that same feeling of nausea and vertigo as before, closing his eyes tightly. When he opened them again, they were not in the Godswood anymore. 

It was night, though it was difficult to tell due to all the fires blazing around them. There were screams and shouts and all around them was chaos, the outline of a keep backlit against the fire. They were standing to the side, just spectators to the savage scene being represented in front of them, and Jaime had no doubt of what it was they were seeing. He knew that keep, even in the almost absolute darkness. Last Hearth. 

Overheard, a dragon made a pass spewing fire from its mouth. Both he and Brienne flinched, though the Raven didn't move a muscle. It was a magnificent beast, with green scales and wicked teeth, long wings stretching as it swopped past them, a dark haired man riding it. There where two other dragons flying around and igniting the hordes of wights surrounding the keep and the still-living people fighting. 

Jaime saw the ones the Raven had taken them to see, in one flank, holding a swarm of wights at bay were Jaime and Brienne, Goldenhand and the Maid, and it was difficult to argue now that it was really them when he could see their faces. They were more battered and slightly younger, but it was definitely them. Jaime was missing a hand and Brienne a chunk of flesh on her face, but her eyes were the same astonishing blue, and she was as tall and wide as the one by his side. Though a bit bigger in the middle. Jaime narrowed his eyes and shot a look at his wench, his lips ticking up on a smirk. Not a Maid anymore. 

He focused back on the battle in front of his eyes. They were fighting together in perfect sync like they were an extension of each other, always aware of where the other was going to hit. They moved seamlessly, leaving no blind spots, laying waste to all the enemies that crossed their paths with their Valiryan steel swords. The swords appeared to be on fire, the red and back of the blade creating the illusion in the middle of the fire surrounding them. Then the red woman appeared. 

"He's coming, prepare," she said, the gem at her throat shinning with unnatural light. "Remember, since the sword was divided, you have to strike together."

" _We know_ , Melissandre," Goldenhand said through gritted teeth, the exhaustion of what had to be a long battle clear in his eyes and movements. He still fought, even as the hits from his sword slowed down, he never stopped and neither did Brienne. "When they come, get behind me," he said, darting a quick look at her.

"No, Jaime, we have to do it together," Brienne protested. 

"The Walkers will come first, then the Great Other or the Night King of whatever the witch called him," he said, panting, pushing back the hordes of wights that never stopped coming.

"I'll fight them next to you," she insisted, though she must have been about to keel over. Not only the exhaustion and all the minor injuries from battle, but she was heavy with child, her movements slower than they should have been. 

A woman in her condition shouldn't have been fighting, but this was the end of the world.

"Please, Brienne, for our child," he pleaded, unable to spare her even a look under the unrelenting attack. "Stay behind me until it's time."

She didn't reply, not verbally, but when the sea of wights parted and the fog rolled in, she moved closer to him. "Please," he repeated, and she shook her head. " _Stubborn wench_."

Jaime risked a quick look at the wench by his side, and she had the same stunned and fearful look in her eyes than he knew was on his. The fog parted and the White Walkers came, like frozen statues of kings carrying swords made of pure ice. They came and they met them head-on, trying to keep them away from the rest of the fighters. It became clear why soon enough, all blades with the exception of Oathbreaker and Widow's Wail shattered on impact with a Walker's blade, the wielder dying soon after. They fought the Walkers side by side, occasionally helped by the dragons and Melissandre, who with nothing more than her hands and her red gem was able to disintegrate Walkers, though it was clearly sapping her life, her youthful appearance fading each time she killed one. 

"Leave the rest to us," Brienne shouted at her when her hair had completely turned white. "Go help the Wildlings!"

Melisandre left and two of the dragons flying overhead landed, close enough they could now see their riders, a blond slight woman and a dark-haired and dark-skinned man. They dismounted, rushing to one of the dragons who appeared to be injured, the wights converging on them. Brienne saw them and turned in their direction, the White Walkers also going for the beasts. "Jaime, Drogon's injured, Daenerys has landed him," she shouted, "The Walkers are going for the dragons." They couldn't afford to lose the dragons.

"Go, I'll follow," he said, still engaged in battle with a Walker himself. 

Except he didn't. He couldn't. It had all been timed perfectly, the moment Jaime killed the Walker and was going to follow Brienne, the Night King appeared. He realized his mistake then, how they had let themselves be separated. That was the moment the enemy had been waiting for, and he shouted, calling her name. Too late, though. He parried a few hits, but it was clear he was no match for this foe with his left hand, and he knew it. 

He had no time to check Brienne's position, he was exhausted and battling a supernatural being with his left hand, the moment he saw an opening, he took it, stabbing Widow's wail into the Night King as deep as he could. The thing looked at the sword and then looked at Jaime, and if he could have smiled, he would have. He grabbed Jaime by the neck and lifted him from the ground, throwing him away like he was nothing. 

"Jaime!" Brienne screamed, running towards them, though she had to know it was useless. The Night King was taking the sword out, and just as he was about to let it drop, Brienne was on top of him, pushing her own sword into him. The Night King dissolved into mist around Oathkeeper and Brienne fell to her knees next to her Jaime. 

"They should have done it together, like in the song of Lightbringer, to ensure he'd never come back," the Raven told them right as the scene dissolved around them and Jaime found they were still in Winterfell, their hands pressed against the Weirdwood. "We were outsmarted, but I've had a thousand years to prepare. He's awake again, and he's assembling an army to retrieve the only thing that can kill him."

Jaime was staring a the Raven, gulping freezing air and trying to keep the contents of his stomach inside. On the other side of the wheelchair, the wench was doing the same, her eyes sheened with tears she was holding back just with pure stubbornness. 

"So, not only my sister's soldiers are going to Last Hearth, but this is also happening now?" Jaime asked, his voice too high. He wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of all of it, but knew the moment he started, he wasn't going to stop, and he was going to end up in tears. He'd rather salvage whatever dignity he had an spare them the sight. "If we are who you say we are, you've just shown me my death, why would I want to continue the way north? What else awaits for me there but death?" He darted a look at Brienne but she wasn't looking at him, her eyes fixed somewhere past his shoulder, probably turned inward.

"Because only you can wield those swords together, you've seen them fight, nobody else would be able to strike at the same time."

He had seen the fight, he had seen their synchronicity and the way they anticipated each other's moves. He had also seen them being tricked. "You forget we're not them."

"Yes, we are," Brienne finally said, her eyes present and focused on Jaime. "You've felt it since we met, you even call me wench." She turned to the Raven now. "We're going in the morning. Unless you need to show us something more, I would like to rest now,"

"Speak for yourself, wench," he said, though he already knew he was going to. He was no coward, and if she was going, then he was going.

"Do what you want, Jaime, but I'm going." She turned and headed back inside, and Jaime stared at the Raven for a minute. He was unmoving, his eyes filmed white, absent. It was obvious that he had told them everything he wanted to tell them. 

With a sigh, Jaime turned around and went back inside. 

…

He knew, somehow, there were hot springs under the castle. Jaime had considered the benefits of asking for a bath to be drawn to his room, but the idea of soaking in a big tub was strangely compelling. 

He asked for directions and then requested some dinner to be brought up to his room. He didn't care if it was the polite thing to do; he wasn't a guest of the Starks, he was there to fulfil a purpose, apparently, they could at least feed him. 

The moment he entered the bathhouse and saw one of the big tubs already had someone Jaime couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips. "We really are them, are we not, wench? Meeting in bathtubs?" It had been one of his least favourite dreams, but now with her there he could see the appeal.

Her eyes snapped to his, and she drew her knees up, curling into as small a shape as she could manage. He realized then she was crying, and didn't want him to see. 

"Wench, Brienne, are you alright?" he asked, approaching the tub. She shrank back even further, dropping her head on her knees so he couldn't even see her face. Alright then. Jaime removed his clothes and entered the bath. The sloshing of the water alerting her of what he was doing. She stared at him wide-eyed. "You said we're them, then we've seen each other naked plenty of times. No need for modesty."

Brienne glared at him. "Or decency in your case, can't you leave me alone for a moment?" she snapped, her voice breaking on the words, fresh tears in her eyes.

"No, of course I can't," he replied, irritated. "I was there as well, I saw what you saw. I, apparently, lived it as well."

 _"You died."_ And the person she had been had loved him and given him a child. Of course she was upset, he felt the anger drain out of him. 

He watched how the tears fell then and approached her without thinking and tugged at her arm until she was pressed against him, her face resting on his shoulder. Belatedly, Jaime realized they were both naked and this had been one of his worst ideas. He was trying to comfort her, not take advantage of the situation, but his body knew nothing of reason, and he could already feel his cock stirring at having so much skin pressed against his. He kept as still as he could and let her cry, taking deep and centering breaths.

"We might be them, in some ways," he began, hoping he could find the words to make her stop crying. "But we haven't lived the same lives, and we don't have to die the same deaths. Come on, wench, nothing is the same except for us, and hey, I have two hands this time around."

She finally relaxed, letting a snort he felt against his skin. "And no army or dragons."

"You forget there is a Lannister garrison already on the way, we might be able to use them instead of fighting against them if needed." If he could offer Bronn something more than his sister had, or if he could kill him, which would probably be the most effective solution.

She sniffled and then pushed on his chest, straightening. Jaime let her go and moved to the other side of the tub, hoping the water and the poor lightning concealed his untimely arousal. Brienne was scrubbing at her eyes, her face flushed. "I'm sorry."

Jaime shrugged and smiled at her, leaning his head back on the tub and closing his eyes. "It's been a trying day, we should just rest and continue. We have a hard way ahead of us and a legend to kill. _Again_."

And hopefully, this time, they would both survive.

...

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case. Non-consensual kissing. You know, like the scene in The Mummy XD


End file.
